Unsuitable
by Kith
Summary: After a defeat and criticism, Steelbeak wonders if he's suited for the job.


It should have been a simple job. It had been a simple plan. F.O.W.L Eggmen had spent the last couple weeks ordering, stealing, and going door to door borrowing all the salt they could get their larcenous little hands on. They were going to pour all that salt into the St. Canard reservoir and Audubon Bay. With all the water in and around town undrinkable, they would make a killing on the recent stock they had bought from Liquidator in the Flood Water Company.

It should have been easy. It was almost a joke. How many Eggmen does it take to pour twenty four tons of salt into the bay?

Answer: At least one more than he had.

Looking up into the sky, he whistled in appreciation. "Ya know, Morgana, I gotta say, that is the second biggest margarita glass I've ever seen."

Morgana stopped in midair and turned toward him. In the process, she lost her focus on a couple of Eggmen who fell into the bay, from where they were promptly batted high into the air by the tail of Neptunia's whale before coming back down to land in the giant salt encrusted margarita glass.

"The second biggest?"

"Oh yeah! I mean, don't get me wrong, Sweetheart, the craftsmanship is superb. Real top notch. But the one at the New Year's party F.O.W.L threw last year was about twice that big. Plastic, though, so you get props for using genuine crystal." Steelbeak picked up a stone and threw it overhand at the giant construct. "Listen to that baby sing!"

Before Morgana or Neptunia could react, the stone struck the glass, which, being real crystal, did sing, and then shatter.

"By the way, toots, the reason we used plastic? So it wouldn't break," he said with a laugh at the look of consternation on her face. "Cheese it, boys!" The Eggmen, already paddling to shore, did not need to be told it was a bust, but that was why he got paid the big bucks. "You girls have fun cleaning up all that glass; it'd be gauche to leave a mess like that behind." With another laugh he turned to make his own getaway, knowing that the heroines, especially Neptunia, would put saving the bay ahead of capturing him.

He was right, of course, and Morgana turned toward the water planning to dismiss her conjuration, but not before making a parting shot of her own. "Not nearly as gauche as that suit."

Steelbeak went from rapid retreat to a hard stop, turning around to look over the back of his custom-built, mint condition, candy apple red convertible getaway vehicle. "I don't think I heard ya's right, Morg. Did you say somethin' about my suit?"

"Maybe they shoulda replaced your ears instead of your mouth," Neptunia called out from below. "She said John Webvolta called and wants it back."

"Oh, no, no, no. You did not just compare my one of a kind, hand crafted, custom tailored suit to something worn by a greasy actor in a bad movie." He put the car in reverse and began backing toward them. "This suit is a classic, ladies."

Morgana laughed. "If by classic you mean old and threadbare."

The car stopped again, a look of horror replacing the outraged one on Steelbeak's face. "Threadbare? Where? Where?" He began frantically patting his immaculate white jacket and looking for any sort of defect. "You're kiddin', right? I mean, if there was something wrong, you'd just tell me, right?" The pleading look on his face caused Morgana to laugh so hard that she was now the one who fell through the air and into the bay. Neptunia came to her aid, but she was laughing so hard herself that she was having trouble swimming, a new experience for the fish woman.

Steelbeak glowered down at them. "Dis ain't no laughing matter, you dopey broads! I need to know if something's wrong with my wardrobe!" Answered only by their laughter, he stormed back to his car and drove off.

The whole way back to F.O.W.L regional command, under an old bowling alley, he fumed. "Da nerve of them! Who do they think they are?" He was F.O.W.L's chief agent. He was to be feared and respected! But how could he be respected if something was wrong with his suit? Image was everything in the high class world of secret agents. It was one of the first things you learned, right after you learned that if there were six trash compactors in a row and a sign that said 'enter here,' you were in for a really bad day.

Walking down the hall, he passed one of .L.'s ubiquitous and omnipresent Eggmen. "Do they order these guys by the case? I hope we get a bulk rate," he thought to himself before calling out to one of them. "Hey Eggman number... oh, just get over here!"

"Yeah, boss?"

Steelbeak brought his fist down on the Eggman's head, forcing the egg-shaped helmet down over his eyes. "Dat's for not tellin' me if somethin' was wrong with my suit!"

"I can't see your suit, boss," the Eggman protested weakly, albeit accurately.

"Then fix your stupid helmet and take a look!"

The Eggman did as ordered and waited for further instruction.

Steelbeak sighed in exasperation. "I swear we should send you guys to work for S.H.U.S.H.! Then maybe you'd be helpful. Is anything wrong with it?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. Carry on." Steelbeak squashed the helmet of the unfortunate Eggman once again and continued on his way, satisfied.

"I shoulda known not to worry about what those chicks said. I mean, come on, one's a friggin' fish and the other one dates a guy who wears polyester. No taste or refinement at all," he mused smugly, then paused. "Yeah, but if someone like dat can see problems with my wardrobe, then maybe it's really there, and that Eggman was just too dumb to see it. I mean, those yellow rubber suits aren't much better than Dimwing's polyester."

Troubled again, he continued down the hall. He did not get far before a new annoyance made itself known. Hotshot, the ex-hippie burnout turned fire-starter, jogged up to him trailing a light plume of smoke from his old clothes. "Hey, Beak-Man! Glad I caught you."

"I like you, kid, I really do, but if ya call me Beak-man again I'm gonna extinguish you, capiche?"

"Sorry, SB. Didn't mean to harsh your vibes," Hotshot replied, holding up his hands in apology.

Steelbeak sighed. "Kid, you gotta get a G.E.D."

"I got some L.S.D. Want a hit?"

"Oh, I'd like to hit something," Steelbeak muttered to himself before answering Hotshot. "Did you need something, or are you just trying to use up some of the extra air in da hallway here?"

"Oh yeah, sorry about that. Got distracted. Anyway, yeah, High Command is on the horn and wants to talk to Agent Numero Uno, so they sent me to find you."

"Ya know, that's the kind of thing you should tell me RIGHT AWAY!"

"Sorry, man. I got distracted. Oh, hey, did I tell you about this L.S.D I got?"

Steelbeak shook his head and was about to leave without answering when he changed his mind and looked back. "Hey, Hotshot?"

"Yeah?"

He looked him up and down. Unkempt unwashed hair, round plastic framed glasses, red long johns, and red high-tops. "Never mind."

"I never do," the hippie agent replied, giving him the peace sign.

Steelbeak sighed and headed toward the conference room.

The large screen lit up as soon as he walked in, revealing the silhouettes of the three leaders of .L.

"Chief Agent Steelbeak, we've been informed your last assignment was," they paused dramatically, "a complete success."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, High Command. I mean I know I shoulda... uh, what?" He stared back at them in surprise.

"We specified salt because we assumed it'd be easier and cheaper to come by. Using crystals shows the kind of initiative we like, Agent Steelbeak. Now, not only will we get substantial returns on our investment in the Flood Water Company, but one of our F.O.W.L subsidiaries has been contracted to dredge the bay to remove the crystals."

Steelbeak, quick and smooth enough to capitalize on any job well done even if it wasn't his, preened, but then hesitated. "High Command, I gotta be honest with you. That crystal was just some magic hooey. It'll fade away soon if it didn't already."

"Excellent!"

"Uh, come again?"

"We'll pass word of this along to the agents in charge of the cleanup. Now they won't even have to expend resources to clean up the mess. We'll simply drag out the process, extending the buying period of Flood Water for as long as it's feasible, and then announce the cleanup was a total success."

One of the other figures leaned forward. "Perhaps we'll finish ahead of schedule instead, and collect an early completion bonus. A portion of which would appear in your next paycheck, Agent Steelbeak, to show our appreciation."

"Well, thank you High Command!" Steelbeak thrust out his lapels and basked in the praise.

"Very well. We'll contact you again with your next assignment. If there's nothing else, High Command out."

"Wait, High Command!"

"Yes, Agent Steelbeak?"

"Is my suit ok?"

The figures stared back at him. "F.O.W.L has no dress-code. Uniforms cut into the budget."

"No, no. I mean, does it look okay?"

Three sets of eyes blinked in unison. "What?"

"My suit. I was wondering if it looks suitably impressive and dignified, you know, for the Chief Agent of .L."

"If this is a ploy to get a budget increase to enhance your wardrobe, we are not amused. Take it up with accounting." The connection broke and the screen went blank.

Steelbeak sighed and his shoulders slumped. He couldn't be seen in public in a substandard ensemble. Dejectedly he started for his own quarters, when along the way he passed the rather large shape of Ammonia Pine, F.O.W.L.'s cleanest agent when it came to dirty work.

"Hey, Ammonia."

"Steelbeak," she replied coldly, still not over the time he had dirtied his hands with her heart.

"Does my suit look okay to you?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "It looks like a suit."

"Okay. I thought it might have some stain or something I couldn't see." Before he could walk another step, he was lifted off the ground by the shorter but stronger agent.

"Hidden stains? I hate those! Those are the worst. Nothing like putting on clothes that look clean but are secretly filthy! I'll take his down to the lab right away and have it checked with the electron microscope, and if there is a stain, so help me it won't last long."

Before he could protest or even catch his breath, he found himself dropped on the floor wearing nothing but his drumstick boxers as Ammonia ran down the hall with his possibly stained and definitely stolen suit.

"Sheesh!" He got to his feet and jogged the rest of the way to his room.

Once inside, he locked the door and slumped against it. That was his favorite suit. "What a day, what a day." His watch caught his attention and his eyes widened. "Ah, crap! I almost forgot I got a date tonight." He ran to his closet and jerked it open.

Neatly hung in vacuum sealed bags straight from the dry-cleaner was row after row of perfectly pressed white suits with black slacks.

"Now what am I gonna wear?"

End


End file.
